hotheaded action
a good friend is now deceased
sorrow and regret
alcohol and guns
a deadly combination
prison is for life
True love is no longer what she desires
Society's idea has long been retired
One person content with only one other
Make most run away for fear they may smother
Dedication and devotion left to expire SelfGratification and greed transpire
Honest compassion is simply a bother
Loyalty is lacked while lust we honor
Craving respect but theres no supplier
Looking for fantasies never to acquire
A gentle hand to satisfy soothe and calm her
Not just swiftly strike down sadly leaving her somber
Jaded by jealous jesters and hotheaded liars
Left to believe that white dress is simply funeral attire
I hit potholes, and my lips lose control
shape-shifting into a hotheaded troll
But when roads are silky smooth
I downshift back into cool
Potholes are the cause of Tourette Syndrome
Picture this.
Two bobsleds.
Six reckless daredevil cousins
Each one of them hotheaded and determined.
Two giant dead-man-curve ski hills
That meet at the bottom two hundred feet down.
Loudest craziest, most fun family video ever taken
Grandma’s shouting can be heard over all of their laughter.
White Van Man
White van driver, he couldn’t give a damn
Oh how I wish that he would scram
From lofty heights he owns the road
He’s deft at signs sure to forebode
With cell in hand intent on chat
He swears at the driver wearing a hat
Coursing a path that’s bumper to bumper
Behind the woman, oh how he could thump her
His high sided vehicle sways this way and that
He’ll be there soon with foot down flat
He’s king of the motorway’s third lane
He’d love to shunt and scare, be a right bane
But to him his driving feels quite lame
He’s white van driver who feels no shame
A hotheaded madcap who loves to race
Carrying a smugness all over his face
When home he parks to own the street
Along with others, its quite a fleet
In the morn, he rises with the lark
Returning faithfully after its dark
He’s white van driver, he does what he likes
He tells his neighbours to get on their bikes
His majestic status is sure to be noted
Carrying an image to which he’s devoted
So white van man, you don’t give a damn
But I tell you squarely that you’re a right sham
Hooded by a cap were his icy blue eyes
Unaffected, it seemed, by cruelty and lies;
Mouth in a tight line, emotionless as ever
As if incapable of thought or action or endeavour;
Words rarely escaped the lips that seemed not
To move as if they belonged to a robot;
Ears deaf to the cries of his beloved brothers
Of the twin angrily blazing to sob to the others
Claiming the icy blue twin just plain didn't care
Of the hotheaded friend who always was there.
But unknown to all, those eyes that seemed to
Have no knowledge at all in their Arctic blue
Hid a lad who hid well under the shade,
Arms littered in scars caused by fingers and a blade,
Afraid to accidentally cause those dear to him harm
Fearing he'd freeze them in an attempt to keep them warm
So he shut his mouth and dared not to speak
For fear he'd end up being cause for heartbreak.
IT’S WHAT IT IS …
If every day you sleep in church; you may not know God
You are not necessarily spiritual; but you are pious
If you’ve grade 99.9%, you’re not most educated; but you’ve first class
You are what you are, and it’s what it is
When she exhibits temperance, then she is neither lustful nor concupiscent
When she’s apparently courageous, she’s neither hotheaded nor irascible
When she adds reason in action, oh yes she be prudent
She is what she is, and it’s what it is
Because he drives he is a driver
And in so far as he plays the flute, ‘flutist’ captures him
Because he plays well the inflated round leather, dub him a footballer
For that is what he is, and it’s what it is
Assuming I be easily deceived and very unintelligent; am foolish and simpleton
What if I be a schmuck or schnook, pity me for I am stupid!
Honest description depicts reality; but malevolent eulogies do not
They give either sheer flattery or mere insults; all in all, it is what it is
Yes! You’re good, because you are
You’re bad, just because you really are
Always, words may not express aptly
But come what may, it’s what it is!
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